Howard Nemerov Poems
|42.||The View From An Attic Window||4/15/2010|
|43.||The War In The Air||4/15/2010|
|45.||To D—, Dead By Her Own Hand||4/15/2010|
|46.||To David, About His Education||5/3/2012|
|47.||Walking The Dog||1/3/2003|
|48.||Witnessing The Launch Of The Shuttle Atlantis||5/3/2012|
Because You Asked About The Line Between Prose And Poetry
Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.
There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.
Some nights it's bound to be your best way out,
When nightmare is the short end of the stick,
When sleep is a part of town where it's not safe
To walk at night, when waking is the only way
You have of distancing your wretched dead,
A growing crowd, and escaping out of their
Time into yours for another little while;
Then pass ghostly, a planet in the house